


sweetheart, take your time

by Evelyn_fireheart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/F, Gen, Heavy Angst, High School, Sad Ending, School Shootings, Short One Shot, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evelyn_fireheart/pseuds/Evelyn_fireheart
Summary: A short piece about a teacher trying to save her students' lives, when it should never be her job anyway.Warning in case you didn't read the tags:School shootingMentions of children dying
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Teacher&Students
Kudos: 5





	sweetheart, take your time

Sound is a funny thing.

It can be supple and kind, a melodious accompaniment to the joys of life, or it can be jagged and unknown, a cacophonous interruption and unwanted disturbance. The gunshot was neither of these things. It tore the world apart with screams and slamming doors, and then left behind deafening silence in its wake. 

Lucy freezes in her place, hands flung out in what had been a careless gesture, but now vaguely resembles terror. That's wrong, she knows; she has to be strong for her pupils. Every single one of them is her responsibility while they sit in her classroom, hers to keep safe and protect. If any of them takes a bullet, it may as well hit her own flesh.

A second passes after the gunshot. Another. They each feel like a lifetime, and in it she meets the eyes of her children, and watches the realisation settle in their eyes. Resigned, understanding, but also terrified past all reason, as any child would be. _So young,_ she thinks, looking at their chubby-cheeked faces and wide eyes. _Too young, to watch people die._

Then, the moment shatters. Time resumes in little stutters: the sound of cascading glass, a bloodcurdling scream echoing down the hallway. Footsteps. Lucy races to the door, hurriedly brushing strands of hair away from her watering eyes, and pulls down the blackout blind over the window. Her mind whirls, turning over probabilities and likelihoods and her daughter's beautiful, impossibly fragile face. She knows her priorities- she knows that she must put her students first. 

No one else will, so she has to. Still, for a selfish, heart-breaking moment, she wishes that she could put her own daughter first. But she chose this profession knowing what it could mean, and so while her hands shake, and fear curls them into fists, she forces her lips into a grim smile.

She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want her kids to see her die. But if her own daughter was here, she would give her life without hesitation, and these children do not have their parents here to do the same. So she must, and she will, die. Lucy turns back to her class, resigned and yet hopeful. Her students are so very small, and have such great futures ahead of them. She does, too, but she has also crafted a legacy to leave behind.

A wife and a child. A community that adores her, and will continue her charity work in her honour. These kids, if they make it, will be yet another facet of her legacy. 

Absently, she watches her hand follow the necessary steps, picking up tables and turning them on their side, smoothing down the hair of those trying to silence tears and herding them into various cupboards.

There have been drills, of course. They are 6-7 years old, but they've chosen who they would die for, and have decided whether they would be willing to create a distraction, and die for the rest. She had tried to be kind about it, letting them know that it was okay to wish for life, and that they deserved to see tomorrow. Now, it all seems so pointless. Either way, innocent children die at the hands of something totally preventable. Not an invisible enemy, or a sudden accident.

Pre-emptive, cold-blooded murder. That's it.

A second gunshot rings out. Only silence follows it. Lucy doesn't know what that means, but she settles into her position at the door regardless. Eyes flickering closed, she murmurs an apology to her wife. "Death is close, my love," she whispers, holding her wedding ring. "I'm afraid I have no choice, but please take your time. I love you." 

If only her wife could hear her- she'd probably be mocked for trying to be poetic. Lucy swallows back a sob, and opens her eyes. The young boy standing opposite from her nods, and she reaches out a hand and places it on his shoulder. "Is there anything you want to say, darling?" _Any last words,_ she almost adds, but the look on his face stops her. He knows exactly what he chose when he took up this position. The boy -Samuel- shakes his head.

"No," he whispers, his words barely more than a breath. "I've prayed, and apologised. There's nothing left." Lucy feels her heart ache in her chest. God, she yearns for a different future. One where this tiny child doesn't have to be the first defense. One where she doesn't have to be a sacrifice. 

But it's too late. A voice still utters in her head, he's too young to die, but she cannot stop this. Lucy leans over and presses a kiss into Samuel's hair, squeezing his shoulder. It's nowhere near what he deserves, but its all she has to give. For this boy, with two loving parents, siblings, and a bright, shining future, there is nothing left to give but fragile comforts.

As she pulls back, his gaze meets hers once more. Tears are gathering in his eyes, but they don't fall. Samuel's resolve is strong. Lucy offers up a prayer, despite her lack of religion. _Please, whoever is out there, let Samuel find peace with his God. He's too young._ No answer came, but then she hadn't really been expecting one. A god who would let this happen at all is not one who would answer her. "I'm sorry." Lucy settles back into her position, pulling the fire safety axe from the wall. If only she had more to offer than a useless goodbye.

Her breath hitches as footsteps echo down the hall, falling into rhythm with Samuel's. When they come to a stop outside their door, Lucy tenses, bringing the axe high. Her fingers ache with the weight of it, but she tightens her grip further. She will die, but she will die fighting. A smile finds its way to her lips, unconsciously, and she hopes its reassuring. That pathetic locked door will not last long against the mindless attack of a psychopath, no matter how much she wills it to do so.

Samuel closes his eyes briefly, and Lucy watches. This is the last person she will see. This is the last face she will see. _Too young,_ she thinks. _Too young to be in a tragedy._

"Thank you," he says, opening his eyes. "You were a good teacher." Lucy nods, and the movement jostles a tear from her eye.

The handle turns.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few months ago as a prose piece. It was in response to news of the many school shootings happening in America every month. I'm sorry if this is incorrect in any way but please be kind.   
> This does happen, and it's a very sensitive subject. If there's any tags that you think I should add then please let me know but, again, be kind.


End file.
